


Modulations

by unknowableroom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Marauders' Era, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-09-06
Updated: 2007-09-28
Packaged: 2019-01-19 02:02:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12400842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unknowableroom_archivist/pseuds/unknowableroom_archivist
Summary: Wherein Slughorn wants to get past shut doors, Snape listens and Lily sets heart-carrying paper airplanes (because yes, James did learn a few things in Muggle studies, thankyouverymuch) on fire.





	1. September, 6th Year

**Author's Note:**

> Note from ChristyCorr, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Unknowable Room](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Unknowable_Room), a Harry Potter archive active from 2005-2016. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after May 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Unknowable Room collection profile](http://www.archiveofourown.org/collections/unknowableroom).

Author: Zarah5

Pairing: James Potter/Lily Evans

Rating: R

Summary: This is not another one of those how-James-and-Lily-got-together stories. Well. Okay, maybe it is. But not only. It's also a story of how they grew up, of how their friends grew up, of how Lily and Snape grew apart and Lily and James together. Because things never really are as simple as fairytales want us to believe, and because love is a big word made out of smaller compromises and, sometimes, sacrifices.

Disclaimer: Parts of this story seem familiar? That just might be because I borrowed J.K. Rowling's world for my own sinister purposes.

===================================

**Modulations**

**I.**

______________________________________________ 

**September. 6 th Year.**

The door to the Potions classroom wouldn’t budge.

Slughorn, always the jovial one, was attempting to open it with exaggerated amusement and wide sweeps of his wand while students were milling about. James grinned, hopped from foot to foot and wondered when Slughorn would admit defeat – or rather, how Slughorn would do so without _actually_ admitting defeat. Turn around as if he’d solved the puzzle and start questioning unsuspecting students? Sure seemed like him, that one.

Slughorn tried to press down on the door handle. The door rattled, slightly miffed. On Slughorn’s brow, beads of sweat were calling a meeting. 

With a grin, James nodded at the scene, then at Sirius and Remus. “One galleon says he’ll turn around with a smile and start questioning Evans. Less than three minutes. Sirius?”

Sirius glanced at Evans, reclining against the opposite wall with a faint smile playing about her lips. “Evans?” Sirius considered it for a moment, shook his head. “Why her?”

James raised a brow. “Oh, I don’t know.” Beat. “Because he worships the ground she walks on, maybe?”

“Really, now.” Sirius drew the words out into a long fairytale and grinned as if he were enjoying some kind of private joke. As if he knew something James didn’t. Remus’s face showed a similar expression, just more subtle.

James narrowed his eyes. “What’s so fucking funny?”

“You,” Sirius informed him, quite blithely. Also quite irritatingly. Wanker. Both of them, actually, because Remus’s smile was very knowing and very not to James’s liking, too. Wankers, then.

James informed them of his sudden insight.

“Oh, shush.” The corners of Sirius’s eyes crinkled. “Just because you’re sexually frustrated doesn’t mean you have to take it out on your friends.”

“Hey, I’m not sexually frustrated,” James protested. “I’m getting some! I’m getting _plenty_ , in fact. More than both of you, probably.”

“Is that so,” a Ravenclaw commented from a few steps away, voice dry. 

“Yes,” James said, turning.

“Good for you, then.” The Ravenclaw shrugged his shoulders, grinning slightly, and why was everyone grinning at James? Mornings really were an evil time of the day. Humanity would be much better off without them.

“So, Slughorn will question Evans, you think? You’re on. And you got about two minutes left.” Sirius reached into his pocket, probably searching for his golden timer which was precise and quite handy in situations like this. Also, it was one of the few Black belongings Sirius hadn’t chucked out, burned or exploded. 

“I don’t think it’ll be Lily. He’ll question one of us and try to read our reactions.” Remus’ tone left no room for doubt. “He’s not stupid, Slughorn.”

“Could have fooled me.” James grinned and wandered over to Evans, just to say hello. Ha, yes. Say hello. “Hello Evans.”

The smile faded just slightly. “Potter.” The term ‘welcoming voice’ lived in another universe. 

“How’s life?” James asked.

“Not bad, until some seconds ago.”

James graciously chose to ignore that. He leaned his shoulder next to hers and watched Slughorn for a moment. Either the man had forgotten _Alohomora_ had been his very first try, or he thought it would get better results on the second. “So, where’s Mary, then?”

“Potions, Potter? Mary?” Evans gave him a look that branded him as an idiot. “Does NEWT level ring a bell?” Her fingers caught in her hair as she brusquely brushed it out of her face. Red strands, pale fingers, dancing. Beautiful. Hell yes, she was beautiful. 

Just a bit off to the side, James noticed how Snape’s hungry gaze tangled in her strands. He commented the revelation with a pointed shudder, and his look of loathing was returned with equal venom.

James turned back to Evans. “So,” sweetly, “you’re all by yourself now in Potions?”

Something Slughorn did made the door groan. Evans shook her head, exasperated. “Why doesn’t he just _admit_ he has no clue? And as for you, Potter,” she glanced at James, “in case you hadn’t noticed, there are still about fifteen people here to sit through Potions with me. I’m sure at least one or two of them will be willing to work with me.”

“Oh, but we wouldn’t just work together, Evans.” James eyed her quite suggestively. Some might go so far as to call it a leer. “As I see it, we’d also _work_ together.”

“Did it hurt?” Evans asked. 

“What?”

“When you were blinded,” she clarified. “Did it hurt?”

“Evans.” James gave her a slow smile. “It’s all right, you know? I understand if you’re nervous.”

“Nervous,” she repeated, no infliction to her tone.

Encouragement? As if James cared. He caught Sirius’ eye, smirked and turned to fully look at Evans. “Nervous, yes. After all, I’m sure it’s not easy, taking that first step into womanhood. But I could make it good for you. I promise.”

“Yes, I’m sure. And what’s even better, you’re so secure in your skills that you don’t have to brag about them.” Her eyes went hard, and for a moment, James thought he was the cause. He wasn’t, though. 

Snape shifted and turned away, lowering his head like a reprimanded child.

“Anyway,” Evans said, and her voice was as hard as her eyes, dark shadows gathering under her cheekbones. “What makes you think I _haven’t_ taken that first step into womanhood, as you so nicely put it?”

Oh, really?

James drank in her rigid posture, the faintly malicious smile that curled her lips, the eyes that burned into Snape’s back – Snape, whose shoulders had stiffened, whose head was half-turned now, as if drawn into the conversation against his will.

“Who was it?” James asked, half-surprised at a thought he couldn’t put a name to, and something in the pit of his stomach twisted like liquid poison. Huh.

“Not that it’s any of your business,” Evans said, and James’ watched Snape’s back, “but it was someone from home, a Muggle boy. We spent the summer together.” Snape, struck, seemed to collapse into himself without actually moving, and James knew Evans hadn’t spoken for his benefit. She probably wouldn’t have humoured him if Snape hadn’t been listening.

Satisfaction crinkled the corners of her eyes, and James didn’t want to look, but couldn’t look away. His lungs remembers how to draw air with a faint delay. 

“Mr. Black!” The jovial voice of Slughorn cut through James’ thoughts. “Care for a guess as to how I could successfully open this door?” 

Slughorn beamed and cajoled, and the silence that encompassed James, Evans and Snape in a weird sort of triangle shattered.

___________________________________________ 

Evans plucked the paper airplane out of the air before it could descend into a smooth landing on her desk. She turned towards its origin, and James winked at her. 

_You know, Evans,_ the note read, _if you really want to hurt Snape, you can just kiss me. Openly. Leisurely. With tongue._

James watched in amusement as his airplane burst into flames: first the wings, then the snout and tail. Last to go was the crooked heart he’d drawn onto the small flag it carried.

___________________________________________ 

Shirt yes, and his robes were… ah, there. A slant of moonlight gleamed off their bright seams. James reached for the fabric, buttoned up his pants with the other hand. Buttons were kind of impractical, really, almost as bad as zippers. All this knowledge and magic, and still humanity hadn’t come up with a better concept. 

He was surprised Abigail made no move to tug her skirt down from where it was bunched around her waist. She just watched him, smile somewhat confused, from her position on the old teacher’s desk. Honestly, the thing didn’t look as if it could handle any weight at all, but it had held up remarkably well.

Abigail’s slip, swinging from her left ankle, shivered. Her legs shimmered white, very white in the dark of the room.

James offered her a hand. “You coming?” 

She seemed to hesitate, her eyes trained on his face, one damp curl clinging to the side of her neck. James supposed she was quite pretty, even though her lipstick was a shade too bright and her charmed lashes stuck together just a bit. 

“What?” he asked, when she still didn’t move, just sat there looking at him. The word came out more impatient than he’d intended.

“Nothing.” She shook her head and jumped off the desk without accepting his hand. Briskly, she tugged her skirt down, stuffed the slip into the pocket of her robes and arranged them around her shoulders, her moves very precise. “So,” she asked in a measured voice, not looking at him, “are you going to walk me back?”

“If you want me to, sure.” James shrugged.

“You don’t care one way or the other, do you?” Still with the measured voice. James studied her for a moment. The debauched air was gone, leaving her drawn tight and seemingly… unhappy? They’d just had a good time, though. 

“What do you mean?” James asked cautiously. 

“You know what?” Abigail said. “It doesn’t matter. After all, it’s not as if you even care, is it?” Not a question, not really. Her voice was tight now, as tight as her face. “I think I can find my own way back, no need to come along. Wouldn’t want you to waste your time.”

James opened his mouth, closed it again. Then, “What?”

Her smile was wide and fake, showing a row of perfect teeth. “The night’s still young. There is yet time for you to find another girl to fuck.”

“Hey!” he protested, somewhat belatedly, very half-heartedly. 

Her brows drew together into a dark line. She refused to look at him, though, glaring at the door instead. “Yes? Did I get something wrong?”

“Uh.” Not particularly eloquent. James cleared his throat and shifted his weight. “I’m sorry?” he offered.

“Are you, now.” Abigail’s sharp intake of breath seemed extraordinarily loud in the dusty room. “I don’t believe you.”

James took a step back, gripping the edge of– 

He let go of the old desk as if his hand had been burned. His robes were coarse under his fingers. He stared at the pool of pale moonlight on the floor and didn’t know what to say.

“You’re an asshole, James Potter.” Abigail’s voice was cold, but with hidden layers James couldn’t discern. He heard rather than saw her open the door. “Really, you’re just,” she started, then broke off abruptly. 

James glanced up. She shook her head and turned away. “You’re an asshole.” Said with such conviction that James felt slapped. 

The sound of her footsteps faded down the corridor while he stared at the dark rectangle of open door. His throat felt tight with maybe just a hint of guilt. Girls were just… Just, what? What the hell? 

He didn’t get it. 

He had a reputation. He knew he had a reputation, and so did Abigail, so why had she thought this would be… What, a relationship? He hadn’t given her any reason to… hope, or whatever. He’d just... Just some kisses, some carefully measured compliments. Just an average date-that-lead-up-to-sex, really.

James didn’t get it. 

He hadn’t tried to trick her, though. He hadn’t promised her anything he hadn’t intended to keep. So, it wasn’t his fault, really. It wasn’t. She’d just gotten the wrong idea. It wasn’t his fault.

Right.

All right. Yeah.

He took a deep breath, glanced around to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything, and left the room with the smell of dust and sex still clinging to his skin. 

___________________________________________ 

Seven in the morning just wasn’t a time for any decent human being to be awake. And to make matters worse, James had gotten up too late to even grab a cup of coffee. His fingers stumbled over the buttons of his Quidditch uniform. 

“Long night, Potter?” Evans next to him was already dressed. She looked more alert than anyone had a right to be at this hour.

“In a way.” James gave her a tired wink, mostly because it was expected. “Been thinking about you, you know.”

“Thanks. I really needed that piece of information, especially this early in the morning.” Evans wrinkled her nose, shook her head. Her hair, tied up into a messy ponytail, made a whispering sound as it brushed over her shoulders. 

“Whatever keeps you awake,” James said, and felt already more awake himself. 

“Definitely not you, Potter.” Her gaze turned wistful. “Now, coffee… Coffee would be a completely different matter.”

“Want to skip practice and sneak down to the kitchen for a cup? The elves make it, like, _really_ strong if you ask nicely.” James yawned and didn’t bother to hide it behind his hand. His mother would have a fit.

When he remembered how to force his eyes open, Evans was looking at him with surprise and a hint of amusement. “What?” he asked.

“You’re the Captain.”

“So?”

“So you can’t skip practice.”

“Oh. Right, practice. Captain.” He knew there had been a flaw in his plan. “Well, what are we waiting for?”

“You?” she suggested.

James yawned and wondered why, if he was Captain, he’d chosen to have a team practice at seven in the fucking morning. He was Captain. He could do anything he wanted, and no one was forcing him to continue the horrible tradition of early-morning-practices. What had he been _thinking_? 

“Next practice,” James told Evans quite seriously while they left the lockers together, “won’t be before noon.”

“All right, Captain,” she said, and he couldn’t tell whether she was making fun of him.

“No, Evans,” he said, “I mean it.”

She shook her head. “You’re really strange when you’re sleep-deprived, you know that?”

It called for a retort, it really did. But. Evans was a much better Chaser when she wasn’t angry at him, probably because it meant she was actually willing to pass him the Quaffle. James bit his lip and was proud of himself. He _was_ the Captain, after all. 

They joined the team in something that could pass as companionable silence, and James fought to hide another yawn.

___________________________________________ 

He passed Abigail in the hallway, on his way to Charms. His books were heavy in his arms, threatening to tumble to the ground any second now, and she threw him a contemptuous glare and turned away quickly. She almost stumbled on the stairs. 

James evaded Remus’ questioning look, kept walking and didn’t feel guilty.

===================================

Author's note: I got rid of all mistakes I could find. However, if anyone is willing to beta, I'd be more than happy to accept. Also, feedback is lovely, and so is constructive criticism. Yup.

(Beta: E-mail in my profile, because I don't know how to contact people through the site.)  



	2. October, 6th Year

Author: Zarah5

Pairing: James Potter/Lily Evans

Rating: R

Summary: This is not another one of those how-James-and-Lily-got-together stories. Well. Okay, maybe it is. But not only. It's also a story of how they grew up, of how their friends grew up, of how Lily and Snape grew apart and Lily and James together. Because things never really are as simple as fairytales want us to believe, and because love is a big word made out of smaller compromises and, sometimes, sacrifices.

Disclaimer: Parts of this story seem familiar? That just might be because I borrowed J.K. Rowling's world for my own sinister purposes.

===================================

**Modulations**

**II.** **October,** ** 6th Year.**

______________________________________________ 

The floor is moving beneath him. It’s drawing him backwards, so James starts walking because he doesn’t want to move in that direction. He wants to move forward. But the floor accelerates with him, and the faster he walks, the faster the ground is slipping out from beneath his feet. For some reason, he only thinks about why he doesn’t think about slowing down.

Remus is somewhere behind him; James can hear his voice, but when he turns around, it’s not Remus, it’s the werewolf. Remus. No, the werewolf. Not Remus, _not_ Remus.  The werewolf. Does he recognize James? His teeth glitter white against the red-black background of the shadows.

James starts running, and the ground picks up speed, too. So does Remus, does the _werewolf_. He’s faster than James, faster than the ground, but only a little. They’re running and inching forward and Snape is watching them with his arms crossed in front of his chest. The ground is motionless beneath him.  Fleeing beneath James.

“Run, idiot!” James wants to scream, opens his mouth just as Snape’s lips twist into an amused smile. James’ words stumble over themselves, contract until all that remains is ‘idiot,’ staggering from one side of James’ brain to the other, looking for a way out. There is none.

_____________________________________________________________

The Common Room was deserted, just as James had known it would be. The sun hadn’t made it quite over the top of the mountains just yet, but errant rays of light made golden dots spin on the wall. James crouched down it front of the fireplace and stared into the black charcoals, most of them covered in white-grey ashes. His whole body felt cold, numb. 

He could light a fire.

“You know,” Sirius said through a wide yawn, “you could light a fire instead of staring morosely into the ashes.”

James looked over his shoulder, drew one knee up to his chest and used the first distraction that came to mind. “Didn’t your mother teach you not to show your tonsils when you feel the need to yawn?”

“Nah.” Sirius sprawled on the couch next to the fireplace. He draped one leg over the backrest, bounced his foot against the back of the couch and generally managed to look thoughtful, mischievous, attractive and awake at once. Sometimes, James hated him. 

“Manners weren’t exactly high on the list of things I’ve been taught,” Sirius continued. “I can do a mean definition of ‘family values,’ though. And of ‘the importance of pure blood.’ Or of ‘bringing honour to the House of Black.’”

“I think I’ll pass,” James said, “but thanks all the same.” He hadn’t missed the shadow that briefly darkened Sirius’ eyes and leaned over to poke him in the ribs, already sorry he’d brought it up. He’d _seen_ Sirius, seen him as he’d knocked on James’ door, Sirius’ mouth tight and too-soft at once, his clothes obviously pulled on in a hurry, a ridiculously small suitcase hovering on the steps next to him. James should have known better than to refer to any of Sirius’ relatives.

“I like the bringing honour one,” he said softly, carefully. “It has all these big words, like commendable and illustrious. Besides,” he half-grinned, “I’ve always wanted to hear your mother say ‘mellifluous’ in her best screech. Like a dragon preaching about the advantages of a non-smoking policy.”

“Or a  Niffler condoning all things shiny.”

"Or McGonagall advising to loosen up." 

“Or  Snivellus demonstrating the use of shampoo.”

“Good one,” James said. He leaned back against Sirius’ couch and closed his eyes. The sun seemed to shine right through his lids.

“So,” Sirius said, then nothing else. 

James opened one eye and half-turned his head, his muscles still tired with remnants of sleep, reluctant to carry out his orders. “So?” he asked.

Sirius had his eyes closed, head tilted back against the armrest. His brow furrowed as if in deep concentration. “So,” he repeated.

James nudged him. “Spit it out, Black.” 

“So,” Sirius started again, and James was about to nudge him more forcefully when the rest of the sentence followed. “You always say Remus’ name in your sleep?”

“Of course not,” James protested almost immediately. “Usually, it’s yours.”

“Why, James, I didn’t know you _cared_.” 

“But of course I do, dear Padfoot.”

“Well, maybe.” Sirius opened his eyes, frowning, his voice an odd mixture between reluctant and inquiring. “But obviously, my presence in your dreams has been taken over by Remus. I’m hurt, you know.”

“I’m sorry. I can’t help it if I love him more. We’re destined, you see.”

“I see.” To James’ dismay, Sirius didn’t match his light tone. The soft morning light made his features seem mature, earnest. James turned back to the fireplace. “You woke me up, you know,” Sirius said.

“Oh, right.” James shrugged. “I was wondering what catastrophe made you decide to get up. It’s not even time for the second class yet.”

“Stones and glass houses, Prongs. Also, faulty distraction techniques.” Sirius gave a light snort, but his voice was still uncomfortably earnest. He shifted on the couch, the motion commented by the creak of a spring. Briefly, the smell of dust rose from the cushions. “So?”

James sighed and dropped his forehead down on his raised knees. “Just… Bad dreams. Nothing major, you know.”

“I thought so.” For a moment, silence settled over the room like a slightly dusty cloak. The golden spots of sunlight swirled behind James’ lids and he blinked to chase them away. Sirius cleared his throat. “It’s, are you –“ 

James raised his head to look at him, smiling what he hoped was more than just a tight smile. “Fine, yes.” 

“I…” The word stood lonely and isolated in the air, Sirius apparently unable to find its companions.

“I know,” James said, and he did. 

“I still don’t get it,” Sirius said after a pause, staring into the sliver of sun that bathed the upper half of his face in golden light. He didn’t even blink, and James wondered what he saw in the brightness. Again, Sirius cleared his throat. “I just, I don’t, why did he… I mean, Snape _never_ …” He shook himself physically and glanced down, his wide eyes finding James. “Usually Snape just, when I say something…”

“I know, Sirius.” 

“I thought it would keep him away,” rushed now, “I thought he’d _never_ go looking there, but he–“ 

“I _know_ ,” James interrupted, harsher than he’d planned. “I know,” he repeated, softer this time. “And I told you it’s okay.”

“We’re okay,” Sirius said.

James nodded. “We are.” 

“Yeah,” Sirius said, almost a sigh. “I know.”

“Well, good.”

“What’s good?” Remus asked from behind Sirius. He appeared to be rubbing traces of sleep out of his eyes, and why was it that he, too, was awake at this indecent time of the day? James had nutters as friends, that was why. Nutters and wankers. Oh joy.

“It _was_ good,” James answered, because Sirius seemed to need a moment to get over the interruption. Even now, months later, he still got shy around Remus. Not always, just... sometimes. When the topic came up. 

“Well, _what_ was?” Remus glanced at the extinguished fire and patted his pockets for his wand while Peter, looking more asleep than awake, collapsed against Sirius’ couch and promptly shut his eyes. 

“Et tu, Pete?” James raised his brows, quite happy to dodge Remus’ question. “So you’ve fallen, too?”

“I woke him up.” Remus had found his wand and waved it at the fireplace. Small, bluish flames sprang to life. “Didn’t seem fair for him to be sleeping when the rest of us apparently can’t.”

“Screw you,” Peter said, the effect somewhat diminished by the yawn that followed. 

“Thanks,” Remus said, “but no thanks.”

Peter shrugged and closed his eyes again. “Suit yourself, then.”

“We’ve heard Pete’s.” James moved a bit closer to the fire, and although he hadn’t really been feeling cold anymore, the flames still tickled his skin to a more comfortable state of warmth. “What’s your excuse, Remus?”

Remus sank into a cross-legged position next to James. “I woke up because Sirius and you were gone. Guess my animal instincts for danger kicked in.”

“Oh, very funny,” Sirius put in, but something akin to relief coloured his words. Had he been afraid Remus might have caught a slice of James’ dreams? 

“Quite the opposite," Remus said. "The two of you, alone together and awake at this hour? That can’t be good. I smell danger.” 

“And I repeat: _very_ funny.”

James yawned and leaned back on his elbows. The carpet felt quite torn under his palms. He wondered how many generations of Gryffindors it had had to endure. Quite a few, judging by the ancient pattern that probably hadn’t been in style since, well, the days of Godric himself, probably. “Maybe,” James suggested, “Remus should get his sense of smell checked. Pomfrey really doesn’t get to see enough of him as it is.”

“My, _aren’t_ we witty this morning,” Remus muttered.

“I don’t know about you, but _I_ certainly am.” 

“Delude yourself, then.” A comfortable, half-awake silence settled for a moment before Remus seemed to remember his original intent. He twirled his wand between his fingers and looked from James to Sirius. “So, what _are_ you up to?”

The sound of light steps on the Girls’ Staircase relieved James of an answer. He glanced over and decided that Evans really had impeccable timing. Good girl, Evans. If only she’d give him the time of the day. 

Oh well. Nobody was perfect.

Evans was about to turn to a chair in the far corner of the room when she noticed the gathering around the fireplace. And, all right, the four of them weren’t exactly known for being early risers, and James supposed he himself even might have a bit of a reputation for being anything but a morning person. An indication was the fun fact that out of the four somewhat-girlfriends he’d had, three of them had found themselves being moved into the position of an ex before nine in the morning. There was a time of the day to get a good start on things. 

Mornings weren’t it.

Anyway. James supposed this explained why Lily was looking at them with much the same expression he’d once seen on the face of a Muggle, confronted with a flying broomstick. 

“Did I miss something? Is it Christmas Day already?” She raised her voice to be heard over the short distance, then decided to come over. James noticed the unconscious sway of her hips, open robe trailing behind her. Damn, if only she’d be a _bit_ more open to his advances. 

“Look who joined the wit-of-the-morning squad.” Remus sighed theatrically, but greeted her with a genuine smile all the same. James had never quite understood their easy friendship, although he supposed it was a result of their regular patrols. Spending hours together and all.

“My pleasure,” Evans said. She dropped some parchment, a quill and her book – _Omnipotente_ _Potions_ – on a nearby table, seating herself on the tabletop next to her things. Just like Sirius, she looked more awake and beautiful than anyone had a right to be at this time of the day. Life just wasn’t fair. “So, what’s the special occasion?”

“We decided to form a cult,” James informed her. He noticed a lock of red hair that followed the line of her neck and came to rest against her collarbone.

“Oh, good.” Evans thought for a moment, then her eyes lit up. “Does it entail copying other people’s Potions homework?”

“Why, _Evans_ , have you neglected to do the assignment?” James grinned. “Who would have thought you’d stoop so low?”

“Well, I was about to do it now,” Evans said, her expression quizzical. “Since Mary and Jem wouldn’t let me copy and I can’t ask…” She trailed off and frowned, as if coming to a realization only just now. Next to James, Remus shifted and seemed on the verge of speaking. James was faster, though.

“You know I condone cheating.” He gave her a reproving look and counted on his ability to annoy her even when he was obviously joking. 

“Yes, right.” The frown was gone and her concentration on James. Much better, that. He preferred slightly exasperated Evans over sad Evans any day. Although she sounded more amused than exasperated, but it was only a matter of time. “And I suppose that’s why you were so hastily copying Remus’ Defence stuff yesterday at lunch, right?”

“Always knew you were watching me, Evans.” James gave her an exaggerated smirk and nodded his head as if in satisfaction. Apparently unable to feign sleep any longer, Peter opened his eyes and yawned, shifting into a more upright position. From above, Sirius poked him in the back of the head. Ah, friends.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Evans said, just as he’d thought she would. White morning light turned her voice soft and almost transparent.

“Nah, that’s okay.” James’ grin widened. Funny how easy it was to be fully awake, as long as it was with the right person. Hmm. Now _that_ was a thought to hold onto. “I have people to do that for me.”

“I hope you pay them well,” was her reply, mostly amused and faintly exasperated. 

“They’re called admirers,” James said, “and they do it for free.”

“Hey, now!” Sirius protested. “You shouldn’t belittle your mother’s cooking like that! Or your dad’s fine stash of alcoholic beverages!”

“Hell yeah. Finest red currant rum there is,” Peter put in.

Evans shook her head and dangled her legs. “I don’t think I even want to know.”

“You sure?” Sirius asked very sweetly. “Because James talks about interesting stuff when he’s drunk, you know. I could tell you –”

“No, thanks,” Evans interrupted quickly, “I don’t think I could handle hearing about the perverted workings of Potter’s mind.”

“Shame. And I didn’t even tell you that most of the particularly juicy stuff is about you.” Sirius’ expression was one of deep mourning. 

James kicked him in the shin. “You know, Padfoot, sometimes I wonder why I keep you around.”

Sirius settled into a more comfortable position, both his legs now out of James’ reach. “It’s because you love me.” 

“That’s wonderful.” Grinning, Evans hopped to the floor. The strand of hair, James noticed, had found its way into her décolleté. Another thought to remember. “Now that we got this sorted out, who’ll let me copy his homework?”

James shook his head. “Why do you even care? It’s not as if Sluggy would berate you or anything. I swear, that man’s in love with you.”

She gave him an amused look. “Jealous, Potter?”

“In your dreams, Evans,” he answered sweetly.

“And don’t you _wish_ you were a part of them?”

“That depends on the rating.”

“You know, Potter, sometimes I wonder if you’re really that much of a manwhore, or if you just really enjoy annoying me.”

James pretended to ponder this for a few seconds before he nodded decisively. “Both, I guess. Equal parts.”

Before Evans could comment on that, Remus rose to his feet and held up a hand. “Come on, Lily, I’ll let you copy mine.”

She beamed at him as if he’d saved the day when honestly, he’d just offered her some stupid answers to some stupid questions. James could have done the same. Maybe he even _would_ have.  If she’d asked nicely.

Oh well. 

With the excitement over and Remus and Evans at a table in a secluded corner of the room, Peter went back to sleep, Sirius busied himself with tying loose threads into thick knots, and James studied the dancing golden spots on the wall. Only now and then did he glance over to catch a glimpse of the alluring red lock. _____________________________________________________________

This time, it wasn’t Remus who caught the burning glare that Abigail threw James’ way. For all his occasional thickness, Sirius could be quite perceptive when he chose to be, and he didn’t miss how James chose a corridor that didn't necessarily lie on the shortest route. 

When James glanced over, Sirius was looking right back at him, eyes curious. “Something you wanna tell me?”

“Not right now,” James said, and that was that. Thank god for mates who knew when to keep their mouths shut.

It wasn’t a big deal anyway.

_____________________________________________________________

“I got rounds,” was the first thing Remus said when he returned from the Prefects’ Meeting, and the darkness in his eyes told them what he meant.

Sirius, previously engrossed in some kind of adult Muggle magazine (he claimed they were less conservative in their presentation of the female body than Wizard magazines, even though the bodies didn’t move), rolled over into a sitting position. James stopped polishing his broom and raised a hand to push hair out of his eyes, the smell of wax clinging to his fingertips. 

“You tried to switch?” Peter asked, albeit they all knew Remus had.

Remus sat down on his own bed, the mattress dipping beneath his weight. “’Course I have,” he said.

“Well, shit.” Sirius flicked his bed curtains. The result was a jingling sound that served to emphasize his evaluation of Remus’ situation.

“When is it?” James asked. He placed the broom carefully on a stool and sat down on his own bed, completing the square the four of them currently formed. 

“Still a bit away.” Remus stared into the darkness outside, his frown reflected on the windowpane. "Middle of December, so still some time, but, you know. It’s kind of unfair to let Lily do all the work by herself.”

Peter crossed his legs, watching Remus watch the darkness. “Why didn’t anyone want to switch? Maybe if we ask around a bit?”

Remus shook his head. “No chance there, Pete. _Everyone_ has rounds that night. It’s some kind of gathering of the School Board or something. And of course everything has to be perfect.”

“Oh, that.” James nodded. “I heard about that, my parents should be there, too. And all the Prefects have to do patrols that night?” 

“Shit,” Sirius repeated. 

“We could ask Dumbledore to clear you,” Peter suggested. Smart boy, that Peter.

“Yeah,” Remus said, “I guess.” But he didn’t sound convinced, and he didn’t avert his eyes from whatever he saw in that reflecting windowpane. James wondered if Remus was observing himself and hated that he didn’t find words that crossed the distance, hated that there were still moments when his dreams trickled into reality, made his breath stumble and robbed all colours of their brightness.

It was _Remus_ , after all.

=================================== 

Sorry for the break between chapter 1 and 2. Posting the first chapter right before leaving for a two-weeks-vacation wasn’t exactly a clever move on my part, but then again, I’ve never been known for my brilliant organization skills.

Riri, if you're still reading this: I'd love for you to beta, but didn't know how to contact you. If you - or anyone else - is still up to the job, my e-mail is in my profile and it would be lovely.

Thanks to anyone who reviewed! 


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